


Warlocks and Mages

by iwasonceadonut



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Happy Ending, I guess???, M/M, Secret Identity, Underage Drinking, idk like for a while he doesn't really know either of them, maybe two years, there's like way less of an age difference between stiles and derek oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-20 00:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3629211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasonceadonut/pseuds/iwasonceadonut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“we both play this stupid game online and you keep beating me every single goddamn time so I called you out and you are pretty cute but can you not”</p><p>Or the one in which Stiles likes to play a game but this one total douchebag keeps killing him for no reason and it's really starting to get to him. And to make matters worse, Stiles finally manages to have a conversation with the really hot guy from his Philosophy class, but he does it while he's stupid drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warlocks and Mages

**Author's Note:**

> So okay this is pretty much a prompt that my friend Hilary sent me for Sterek and I was like "heck yeah let's do it" but then it went all over the place and now I'm not entirely sure what happened here but oh well. It's unedited all to hell, and there are plot holes all over I'm sure, but here it is.

Stiles isn’t really sure how he managed to stumbled upon this goddamn game exactly, but he is sure of the fact that he’s absolutely obsessed with it. He doesn’t think that he’s had a normal sleeping schedule since he signed up (though that might also have something to do with the fact that his signing up to the game corresponded directly with him starting his second year at university), and it’s gotten to the point that even his friends have stopped poking fun at him and instead have started shoving a cup of coffee into his hands whenever they see him on their way to whatever class they’re on their way to. Sometimes he feels like they’ve established a sort of “Keep Stiles Somewhat Sane and Functional” schedule, with shifts and everything, but he doesn’t bring it up because he knows how much they like to feel like they’re helping. Plus, who turns down free coffee? Certainly not a broke college student who can barely remember to put socks on.

As Stiles thinks this, he takes a sip from his to-go cup and sighs quietly, staring blankly at his computer as his teacher starts to wrap up her lecture for the day. Stiles somehow managed to dutifully take notes the entire class period, though he’s not sure if he actually managed to even slightly grasp what she was talking about. All he can seem to think about is going home and playing his stupid game again. _Warlocks and Mages_ is, quite possibly, the most embarrassing thing that he’s had a phase for since he used to religiously watch all of the Star Wars movies in his early teen years. It doesn’t matter that it’s really well made, or that it’s super creative and has a really nice story line, or that it’s got some of the best graphics that he’s ever seen. It doesn’t even matter that it’s an online computer game that allows controller use. Not when he tells people what it’s called and he sees that look on their face. You know, the, “You really spent sixty dollars for a game like that?” look. Stiles used to thrive off those looks. He still kind of does. But they will always annoy the fuck out of him.

Finally, the class is dismissed and Stiles hauls ass toward his Jeep. His laptop is strapped snug in the bag that’s slung over his shoulder, and he’s got his phone in his hands, his attention divided 60/40 between replying to Scott and Lydia’s texts inquiring about a party that night and precariously avoiding plowing into anyone and anything that he crosses paths with.

He’s just sent his affirming, _‘hell yeah let’s go get trashed!’_ texts to both of them when he, of course, _plows right into somebody_.

Stiles kind of hates himself just then. Especially when he starts flailing his limbs around, trying to catch his balance because there is no way in hell that’s he’s falling over. Not when his baby (aka his laptop) is in danger of being sat on by his bony ass. He’s pretty sure he would actually die if that were to happen.

“Ugh, I’m so sorry,” he says once he’s finally got the whole gravity thing figured out. He goes about straightening his clothes. “I need to stop texting and walking. It’s really becoming a problem.”

The person that he ran into just grunts and pushes past him. Stiles frowns and turns to watch his figure walk away. He didn’t even get to see his face.

He does get to see his butt, though, and it’s a very nice butt, indeed. Stiles gawps at it for as long as he can before the guy is out of his sight and Stiles is left standing in the middle of the pathway like an idiot. Finally, he shrugs and makes his way to his car.

Some people never really grasp how to socialize with others.

***

“Dude!” Stiles groans and falls back onto his bed, sprawled out like a starfish and completely fucking exasperated. “Really? Was that really necessary?”

A laugh bursts from his headset and Stiles grunts, burying his hands in his hair and tugging at it angrily. “You suck, you know that? You’re such a dickweed.”

Stiles, of course, is just mad that he just got his ass handed to him again. This guy, this _sourwolfguy_ (which, _really_? Great username, asshole), has been challenging Stiles and taking all of his kills since he started playing this fucking game and challenging his to duels that Stiles always loses, and it’s getting really annoying. Stiles just wants to level up, okay? He doesn’t know what this guy’s beef is with him. Maybe he just gets off on making other people’s lives miserable.

“Is dickweed even a valid insult?” the guy asks, his voice somewhat muffled over the headset. “I thought it was a shitty plant or something.”

Stiles stares up at his ceiling and shrugs, even though Sourwolf can’t see him. “I mean, if people can be called dicknuggets, I don’t get why they can’t be called a dickweed.”

Sourwolf sputters. “Dicknuggets?”

“Yes,” Stiles says. “Dicknuggets. Which is another thing you are. Actually, anything that has the word ‘dick’ in it is you. Dick.”

Stiles stops talking when he hears the telltale sounds that signifies that he’s just been killed. Looking back at his screen, he swears profusely at the _**‘SOURWOLFGUY HAS JUST DEFEATED YOU. RESURRECT OR EXIT GAME?’**_ that’s currently glaring at him.

“ _Dicknugget!_ ”

Sourwolf is still laughing when Stiles exits the game.

***

Stiles is a teeny bit drunk.

He has his arm slung across Scott’s shoulders, and he can’t seem to stop laughing or talking, even though a lot of the things that he’s saying don’t make any sense, even to him.

“And then,” he slurs, leaning close to Scott and staring at him wide-eyed, like this is the most important thing that he’s ever told anyone, “the guy _kills me_. Just like that! Who does that? Monsters, that’s who.”

Scott is nodding along earnestly, like he totally knows and cares about what Stiles is telling him. “We should kill him back; just, like, tag team him,” Scott says seriously, completely earnest, before his eyes trail away from his best friend and his face splits into a wide grin. “Kira, hey!” he cries, and Stiles is suddenly without anything to lean against. He goes down hard, and then can’t seem to find it within himself to try to get back up. Instead, he stays sitting in the middle of the floor, blinking slowly and wondering what just happened.

“Woah,” Stiles says dumbly. He looks up, right into a pair of intense green eyes shadowed with even more intense eyebrows. “Woah,” he says again, because, wow, attractive much?

“Why are you sitting in the middle of the floor?” the guys asks, and Stiles nearly dies at how nice his voice is. Stiles looks down at his messy sprawl, and then at the guy kneeling in front of him. He distantly remembers seeing him in one of his classes. Philosophy, maybe. He tries to remember hearing his name, but it’s no use. The only things that he can seem to recall about this guy are his eyes and the fact that he broods like a motherfucker. Every time Stiles looked at him in class, he was either glowering at his desk, glowering at the people surrounding him, or glowering at the teacher. There was a lot of glowering going on with him.

Finally, Stiles shrugs. “Why aren’t you?”

The guy glares at Stiles for a moment before finally shrugging. “Good point.” And then he drops the crouch and sprawls across the floor much like Stiles is, but with much more grace and dignity, which confuses Stiles greatly, because who manages to look that hot sitting on a floor? Certainly not him. “I’m Derek, by the way.”

Stiles shoots him a sloppy smile and tries to wink but instead blinks owlishly instead. Close enough. “Stiles.” They’re silent for a while after that, just sitting there, letting people veer around them, completely ignoring the irritated looks that they’re receiving. But then Stiles starts to feel like he needs to fill the silence; like he needs to make this stranger - this Derek - like him, so he says the first thing that pops into his delightfully buzzed brain.

“You remind me of a pitbull.”

Derek quirks one of his impressive eyebrows. “Oh, yeah?” he asks, and even Stiles, drunk as he is, can pick up on the cautious curiosity in his tone.

Stiles nods enthusiastically. “Yeah.”

Derek seems to wait for something before sighing loudly and twitching his wrist in a vague ‘go on’ motion. Stiles doesn’t get it, and Derek huffs out a breath before finally asking, “Why?”

“Oh,” Stiles says, finally realizing what he wanted. He smiles once more, probably just as sloppy as the previous one. “It’s because you look really intimidating, right? But, like, I would bet my Jeep that you’re actually, like, a really nice person underneath your tough… uh….” Stiles wracks his brain. “Shit. I can’t think of the word. Oops.”

Derek doesn’t say anything to him, just looks at him, shoulders tense, mouth in a tight line, but Stiles is too busy trying to remember what he was going to say to really notice. “Um…” He taps his chin thoughtfully, before perking up, brown eyes going round. “Esperior! Yeah, that’s it! Tough esperior!”

Derek’s eyebrows furrow, and he looks at Stiles like he’s trying to decide if he’s sane. “Do you mean exterior?”

Stiles gives him a blank look. “No. I’m pretty sure it’s esperior.”

Derek is about to retort when someone comes up behind him and says something in his ear, too low for Stiles to hear. Derek nods and stands up, waving a hand to Stiles as a farewell before leaving. Stiles watches him walk away and feels a distant blip of deja vu. He ignores it.

Derek has a nice butt.

***

Lydia finds Stiles still on the floor some undetermined time later and somehow manages to get him back to his apartment in one piece, which is surprising, because even Stiles can tell that she almost commits homicide a few times. He wakes up the next day still in his clothes, fighting off nausea, and chooses to pretend that he doesn’t remember any of the night before.

***

Stiles finally gets sick of dying at the hands of Sourwolf and decides to tell him how he feels while he still has the chance. He goes to turn on his headset, and then decides against it, because he doesn't think he can speak out loud without whining. So he scoots himself closer to his keyboard, pulls up Sourwolf’s PM box, and types out a quick, somewhat rational message.

**Look, dude. It’s been real fun and all, but could you PLEASE stop killing me all the time because it’s starting to piss me off.**

To Stiles’ surprise, Sourwolf replies almost instantly.

 _ **sourwolfguy:**_ **aw, is someone getting angry?**

Stiles groans and shoots back: **seriously, stop or I’m gonna block you.** He doesn't mean it, but desperate times and all that.

 ** _sourwolfguy:_** **fine, I’m sorry. I’ll stop.**

Stiles lets out a sigh of relief, and is just starting to relax when he gets another message from him.

 _ **sourwolfguy:**_ **It’s just that I have this tough esperior that I need to keep up.**

He frowns at the message. There’s a feeling of dawning realization that confuses him. **Do you mean exterior?**

 _ **sourwolfguy:** _ **no, stilesthemaster, i’m PRETTY SURE it’s esperior.**

The realization finally hits him, and Stiles has never exited a game so fast in his life.

***

The second time Stiles runs into someone, he’s focusing on not spilling his coffee in his too-full hands.

He slams into a wall of muscle much similar to the first chest that he bulldozed into just days before, and it’s all for naught because his coffee, and his books, and whatever is left of his dignity, all crash down around him.

Stiles can do nothing but stare at the mess surrounding him and let out a groan of disbelief because this is his life, right here. Running into people, and getting killed in a really lame video game by a really _not lame_ guy who sat with him in the middle of a crowded floor during the peak of a party. Well, those things and school. He’s got a paper due in less than a week that’s worth thirty percent of his final grade, and he’s written exactly half a page, his name included.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he blurts out before he can think otherwise. “Oh, god, I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to walk like a normal fucking pers-” His voice cuts off when he looks up and his gaze is snagged by a pair of deep green eyes that are sparkling with amusement.

Derek is smirking, Stiles is fidgeting, and it’s a mass ball of awkward. He can’t seem to think of anything to say, and Derek doesn’t seem to be in a rush to fill the silence, either, so they simply stand there and stare at each other. Stiles is pretty sure that coffee is soaking into his shoes, but he doesn’t want to break whatever it is that’s happening here, awkward as it is.

Finally, Derek speaks. “You know,” he says, and Stiles is once again crushed with how nice his voice is. “This is the second time that you’ve run into me like this.”

All Stiles can do is let out a bark of surprised laughter, because of course it was Derek the other time he plowed into someone, too. Why wouldn’t it be?

He _knew_ he’d recognized that butt.

Stiles tugs on the drawstrings of his hoodie, trying not to grimace too visibly. “Uh, yeah,” he says with a forced chuckle. “Sorry about that?”

Derek rolls his eyes (hopefully) jokingly and crouches down to start collecting Stiles’ scattered things. He even neatly tosses the now empty to-go cup into a trash can a couple feet away. Stiles finally manages to kick his brain back into gear and bends down as well, snagging a few loose papers and shoving them into his messenger bag sloppily.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. He’s pretty sure that he’s blushing, and he really wishes that he wasn’t, because he doesn’t blush pretty like most people do. His cheeks and neck get all splotchy and the tips of his ears pinken and he hates it.

But then he forgets all about what he was thinking, because Derek is _smiling_ at him, and his chest starts to tighten in the strangest way at the sight of it.

 _That’s the kind of smile that people fall in love with,_ he thinks before he catches himself and looks away hastily.

“Sorry about the coffee, and, you know, everything else,” Derek says, leaning forward to force himself back into Stiles’ line of sight. Stiles feels like the ‘everything else’ he’s apologizing for is referring to more than just his fallen school work. He shrugs and tries to push down another round of blushing. “Let me make it up to you. How about tonight? There’s this really good cafe just outside of campus.”

And now Stiles is gaping, because he’s pretty sure that this god of a man just asked him out on a date. But there’s no way that that’s what’s happening here, because Stiles might not be the worst looking person in the world, or the lamest (he’s actually pretty fantastic, thank you very much), but Derek is, like, so far above him on every level that he’s pretty much ascended to the heavens.

Stiles goes to say something witty, but all that comes out is, “Uh…” And then he’s nodding enthusiastically without even realizing it, and when he does realize what he’s doing it’s already too late, because Derek is smiling again in what looks like relief and Stiles is too surprised to try to think more about the subject. He’s still not quite sure what’s happening, to be honest. What he does know, though, is that Derek’s smile is even more beautiful the second time around, and Stiles’ chest is definitely doing funky stuff again.

“Cool.” Derek stands up, and it’s only then that Stiles realizes that they’ve both been crouching in the middle of sidewalk. Stiles quickly gets to his feet as well and rubs at his neck nervously. “Here, give me your phone and I’ll put my number in it.”

Stiles has pretty much gone completely numb with shock by the time Derek’s punched his number into his phone under the name of _‘Derek Hale’_ before he catches sight of the time. He swears and gives Stiles his phone back, apologizing and muttering about being late for lunch with his sister. Stiles finds himself laughing as he tells the forlorn looking Derek that it’s fine.

Once Derek is out of sight, he looks down at his phone once more, staring at the unfamiliar number with Derek’s name on it. He sends a quick text to him and refuses to acknowledge the shaking in his hands as he presses send.

**See you later tonight, Sourwolf.**

* * *

Two weeks and four dates later, Stiles finally manages to kill Derek. It’s a different video game, and they’re both decently buzzed from the bottle of wine that they shared earlier, but Stiles feels slightly more at peace with the world after it happens.

Of course, that might also have something to do with the congratulatory kiss that Derek gives him for it.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if this sucked. i haven't had a lot of sleep recently. i'll come back and edit it later.


End file.
